Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

For a list of the many characters who populate this saga, check out Dramatis Personae.

Sadie receives a concerning call from Vivaan Dinesh, Derwold’s resident doctor. At the surgery, she is confronted with the murdered vicar. Meanwhile, Millie rescues Bernard from the mysterious black panther, and the traumatised man confesses he’s not a real druid at all. 

Sadie sets out to investigate the vicar’s murder, and discovers that someone has set an arcane wall around the village, preventing anyone from entering or leaving. In the woods that surround Derwold, she meets Astris the dryad.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

by BlueJean

1

“We must speak, you and I. Sister to sister.”

The dryad’s not speaking English, Sadie thought. She’s speaking her own language, but I can understand her. She’s making me understand.

Billy had little reservation about leaping up onto the log where Astris sat, offering himself up for strokes. Astris ran a slender green hand through his black fur.

“You’re real…” murmured an astounded Sadie. “I mean, I had every reason to believe you were, but… after what happened at the oak, there was no sense of your presence there.”

The dryad’s voice was warm honey and sandalwood oil. “The tree was one of many when I first called it home. Now it stands solitary upon the land your kind have stripped bare. Were it not for Isabel I would have retreated further into the forest long ago. Now, though, the oak is free of her sickness and deserves to live out the rest of its days in peace, would you not say?”

Sadie gestured to herself. “It was me that sent Isabel back to the cycle. I’m actually a witch.”

She suddenly realised how needy she sounded, as if she were fishing for gratitude. Did she expect this ancient creature to kiss her palm and offer profound thanks? Sadie and Isabel had been kin, linked by blood. Whose problem had her ancestor been if not Sadie’s? Why expect thanks for putting her own house in order?

Astris regarded her with shrewd eyes. “So it was and so you are. The way you sent Isabel on was very unusual, very impressive. If you had failed, I would not be standing here now. I have yet to regain my full strength.”

Sadie flushed with pride. The dryad shimmied from her perch and padded towards her.

“But enough of that. You came to investigate the spell woven around the Oaken Wood, did you not?”

Sadie recognised the name of the village hiding in those two words. Der meant oak in Old English. Wold meant wood. The village had supposedly been named after Simon Derwold’s ancestors, but it seemed more likely to Sadie that the Derwolds had named themselves after the village. There was power in names, she knew, and an old name doesn’t give itself up easily.

“I thought it was your spell,” Sadie said. “If not yours, then whose?”

“You are not the only witch that wanders these woods, Sadie Laine. I have seen another wending her way through the forest. A magpie sits upon her shoulder.”

“Another witch? Who?”

“A flame-haired woman. There are silver streaks that run,” Astris touched her temples, “here and here. She has used the remnants of the warding weave I placed around the forest centuries ago as a foundation for her own dark magic. She’s very clever, very powerful.”

“Elsa Hart…“

Elsa was a witch? That was quite the revelation. Was the barrier around the village somehow connected to the vicar’s murder, then? Was it Elsa who had murdered him, or were the two things unrelated?

“What’s Elsa playing at? Why would she shut the village off like this? I don’t understand.”

“Nor I. Nothing good can come of it, I fear. Look at the death she has wrought.”

“Why didn’t you stop her?” Sadie said, then realised it sounded like a reprimand. “What I mean to say is, you could’ve stopped her if you’d wanted to, right?”

Astris turned away. She was bunching her fists together at her sides.

“My God… you’re scared of her.”

The dryad peered back at Sadie with something akin to amusement. “Did you think me indestructible, witchling? Do you imagine I do not bleed when cut, nor shrivel and die when burnt? When the Legion invaded these lands millennia ago, they slaughtered my kind with ease. Their metal weapons made a mockery of the slow seduction of our weave. The long life of the Dryad is only won through caution.”

The Legion? Surely Astris couldn’t be talking about the Roman invasion of Britain? That’d been two thousand years ago!

“Uh… exactly how old are you?“

Astris afforded her a scathing look. “It is not a polite question to ask.”

“Oh. Sorry. Some humans don’t like to be asked their age, either.“ Sadie forced herself to focus on the task at hand. It was no time for distractions. “We need to get this barrier down as soon as possible. And figure out what Elsa is up to.“

“The petty games of humankind are naught to me,” Astris said haughtily.

“So you’ll do nothing?” Sadie gestured towards the dead animals scattered across the forest floor. “That’ll be the villagers eventually, unless we can dispel this barrier. If no one can get in or out, we’ll starve to death. Will you really stand by and—”

“I did not say I would not act. Is the Oak Wood not my home also? My kind were living here when yours were still tree dwellers in a faraway land. And one does not ‘dispel’ a tapestry. The weave is dense and complex. It must be unraveled, stitch by stitch. It will take time. And patience.”

Tree dwellers in a faraway land? Sadie didn’t even want to contemplate the inscrutability of that statement. It occurred to her that the dryad might be mad.

“How much time? I don’t know how long it’ll be before someone stumbles on this thing, if they haven’t already.”

Astris circled Sadie slowly, seemingly fascinated with the young teacher. “Hard to say. My perception of time differs from yours. The beat of a dragonfly’s wings for me. Several cycles of the sun for you.”

“Well, can I help? I know some dispelling magic.”

“Yes. You may help. The child, too.”

“Millie?”

“Just so.”

“Millie… she’s different, isn’t she? Her power goes beyond mere witchcraft.”

Astris hunkered down on her haunches next to a dead roe deer. She ran a hand across its cold fur. “Millie and Elsa are the same. They are both of the Tuatha.”

“What does that mean?”

The dryad said nothing for a long moment. Finally, she spoke again. “It was our great mistake. But the tale is long, and there is no time for it now. It is enough to say they both harbour great power. I believe Elsa has suffered, just as Isabel suffered. Her sorcery is all rage and spite. You asked if I feared her. I do. Believe me when I say I have good reason. You would do well not to confront her. Millie may follow a different path. When her menstrual cycle begins she will realise the full potential of her power. Guide her well.”

“I’m trying, I really am. But I’m still learning myself. I had no coven to teach me.”

“The child will need to understand the power she harbours, this is for certain. But kindness and compassion are better lessons. They will stop her straying from the path, and the path is all too easy to stray from. I believe it is too late for Elsa.”

Astris stood and approached the young witch. Sadie could smell her – rich and sweet and earthy. Not at all unpleasant. “I dwell by the waterfall now.”

Sadie knew the place. During the summer months many of the village children went there to swim and frolic.

“Come to me there on the morrow. We will see what can be done with this spiteful hex.”

“All right.”

The dryad leaned in towards Sadie, her nostrils flaring. “What is this? This scent?”

Sadie suddenly felt very self-conscious in such close proximity to the nymph. Astris was incredibly beautiful. Her long walnut hair was swept back behind her pointed ears and draped across a shoulder, a single braid woven into one side. Her bare breasts were pert and perfectly formed.

“It’s perfume,” Sadie murmured. “Medeau Origin.”

She considered offering to write the name down for Astris, but it didn’t seem likely the dryad would be marching down to Boots to purchase a bottle any time soon.

“It is so strong. Why do you mask your natural scent?”

“I’m not sure, really. I just think it smells nice.”

“Mmm. And this colour on your lips. It is paint? The Mammoth Hunters used red ochre on their faces, I remember.”

Mammoth Hunters? Not possible. Surely not possible. How could any creature live that long?

“It’s a sort of paint, I suppose. It’s called lipstick. I tend to stick with the nude colours. Not too keen on anything garish.”

The dryad placed a green fingertip upon the side of Sadie’s neck, brushing the small hummingbird tattooed there. Sadie shivered at the touch. “So detailed. As true as life. The Pictish tribes adorned their bodies with pictures, but nothing so vibrant as this.”

“I have another one here.“ Sadie rolled a sleeve up to reveal a tattoo depicting a cartoon witch riding a broom.

Astris was making approving cooing noises. At least Sadie thought they were approving. “Your outfit is very interesting. So many colours! And your boots seem very sturdy.”

Before she could stop herself, Sadie was holding out her hands and doing a cute little pirouette. “What, these old things? I just threw them on willy-nilly, to be honest. Levis tucked into mid-calf leather boots – very classic. And I love my ethnic tassel cardigan! I literally wear it everywhere.”

Astris gestured to herself. “Among my kind I am considered very beautiful,” she said, a look on her green face that Sadie was shocked to discover might have been shyness. Faced with the almost god-like aura the dryad projected, that small sliver of human vulnerability made Sadie want to close her eyes against its blasphemy.

Astris touched the turquoise jewel that sat in the centre of her forehead, strung there with what looked like a thin vine. “I like this stone. Do you see?”

“Omigod, I know! It’s gorgeous! I never thought about having jewelry there. I might steal the idea, okay?”

“And I use vines and leaves around my body. I like to tie them round my arms and legs like this.” Astris twisted her body from side to side, showing off her scant attire.

“It’s so fucking cute! I wish I could get away with that look. If I turned up to work dressed in leaves and vines, I’d probably get fired, though. But you pull it off so well, Astris!”

An awkward silence ensued as human and dryad regarded one another wistfully. Finally, Astris offered a wry smirk, then flicked her hand dismissively. “Tsss. Enough of this nonsense.” She began wandering away through the trees. “We must watch and wait, Sadie Laine. See what drives this flame-haired woman. See what it is she hopes to achieve.”

“Er… okay. Bye, then.”

“The waterfall on the morrow. Come find me. And bring the child.”

When Astris had disappeared into the forest, Sadie offered Billy a big dopey grin. “Oh my goodness, Billy Buckham! We only went and met a flippin’ dryad!”

Billy looked distinctly unimpressed.

“What? I thought I handled myself quite well, actually.”

2

After that exquisite feast of incestuous pleasure with the girls, Georgia tried her best at persuading them to spend the rest of the afternoon indulging in more sexy fun, even going so far as to promise them freshly baked cakes and extra pocket money. But Freya wanted to pay Elsa a visit, and Millie wandered off upstairs with Bee in tow.

One orgasm was rarely enough for Georgia at the best of times, but there were days when her arousal was so ravenous it could barely be sated. This was one of those days.

She’d tried to phone Sadie several times, but mobile coverage was nonexistent, worse even than normal.

On days like this, Georgia and her lover would fuck the afternoon away, finding ever more inventive ways to make love. Neither of them had much in the way of inhibition when it came to sex.

When Sadie and the girls were at school and Georgia was alone, frustration would stoke her perversion to new heights. She would send Sadie pictures of herself splayed out on the kitchen table with a rolling pin or a courgette stuffed up her cunt, or ask her lover to text her with details of what the pretty little girls in her class were wearing, what colour their panties were, what kind of socks they wore, if their hair was in pigtails or ponytails. Which of them, besides Freya and Millie, would have the tastiest little pussy?

Georgia decided to take the clean laundry upstairs, then spend the rest of the afternoon with her sex toys until Sadie turned up. Basket under arm, she entered Freya’s room first. Her daughters had previously shared a bedroom, but Freya had expressed a desire for her own space, so they’d redecorated the spare room.

She left Freya’s neatly folded clothes on the bed, then lifted the pillow. There were two pairs of panties there, a pair of Sadie’s and a pair of hers, both unwashed. Georgia had to smile. God, I feel so fucking horny.

She left Freya’s room and padded across the hall to Millie’s. Nudging the door open, she found herself gasping in shock.

Millie was sprawled out on the bed, panties round her ankles. Bee was poised between the eight-year-old’s spread legs, lapping at the child’s cunt while Millie stroked the dog’s head, whispering, “Good girl, good girl.”

“Millie Newton! What on earth are you doing?!” Georgia cried, a hand to her mouth.

“Waaaah!” Millie pushed Bee away and scrambled to pull her knickers up. “Uh… bad dog, Bee! I told you not to do that, didn’t I? I did, Mummy, I told her!”

Bee simply wagged her tail.

Georgia couldn’t help but laugh. The truth was, when Sadie and the girls were at school, she’d tried to get Bee to do the very same thing on several occasions, but that novel method of masturbation had always been hit and miss, and usually necessitated a drizzle of honey on her mons. Okay, it was a bit perverse, but it wasn’t as if she was letting dogs fuck her or anything. Surely, a little licky licky every now and then was harmless enough. Certainly no worse than having sex with your own children, she told herself.

Georgia put the washing basket down on the floor and perched herself on Millie’s bed. “Well, someone’s been caught red-handed.”

Millie shook her head rapidly. “No, I haven’t, actually. I was having a nap and when I woke up Bee was doing… uh… well, that.”

“Oh, I see. And I suppose Bee pulled your knickers down too, did she?”

“Um… they must have fallen down!”

Georgia laughed. “You’re so funny, pixie.”

“Oi, stop laughing!” Millie demanded, then broke out into fits of giggles herself.

Georgia snaked a hand up her daughter’s bare inner thigh, then let it settle on the crotch of her pink panties. Her fingers traced the shape of the puffy labia beneath. “If you need your pussy licked, you don’t need to get Bee to do it, silly girl. Mummy’ll always help you with that.”

“Sometimes I like it when Bee does it,” Millie admitted. She opened her legs for her mother. “But I like it when you do it, too.”

“Let’s get you out of those knickers, then.”

Millie slipped her panties down until they ringed her knees. Georgia pulled them the rest of the way off, then pushed a finger through the child’s bulbous vaginal lips, still wet from the dog’s tongue. She took Millie’s knickers and wiped away any remaining moisture, then dipped her head between Millie’s open thighs, flashing her tongue through the crease of the little girl’s sex. The taste was tart and spicy, the smell of her youngest only fuelling her own arousal.

Georgia coaxed Millie’s little clitoris from its fleshy hood, then pushed a single finger deep into her pussy. “I’ll bet Bee can’t do this,” she cooed, then flicked her tongue over the little node while her finger pistoned in and out of Millie’s tight hole.

Wanting a better view, Millie pushed Georgia’s dark hair back. She liked to see what her mum was doing when they played sexy games. It was fun to watch her finger poking in and out, to see her tongue darting back and forth.

A series of small tics and tremors shook Millie’s body. Bee had taken her halfway there, and now Mummy was finishing her off so, so nicely.

“Oh, Mummy… Mummy!“

Having satisfied Millie, Georgia planted a soft kiss on each of the girl’s thighs, then another on her belly button. She could happily go down on her little girl for the rest of the afternoon, but her own hunger needed to be taken into consideration.

She gently turned Millie over onto her belly, unable to resist peppering more kisses across her firm little bum cheeks. Quickly shedding her clothes, she climbed over Millie, pressing her sex against the child’s arse. “My sweet girl,” she cooed, stroking her daughter’s hair. “Mummy’s going to fuck you now.“

Hands braced upon the bed on either side of Millie, Georgia arched her body and rubbed her cunt back and forth across the child’s bare bottom.

Millie reached back to grasp her mother’s arse, a smile playing on her lips. “You’re making my bum all wet.“

Hips pivoting, Georgia pressed her tits into Millie’s back, liquid sounds accompanying each thrust. “Oh, yeah. I’m gonna come, Millie, okay? Mummy’s g-gonna come all over your pretty bottom.“

Millie craned her neck to peer back at Georgia, sucking on her lower lip. She liked to watch her mum doing orgasms.

Georgia ground her sex tightly against Millie’s bottom as the climax oozed out, her arse clenching and unclenching with each surge of ecstasy. Finally, she let her full weight settle onto her daughter’s body, nuzzling at her ear. Millie found her mother’s mouth and the two of them shared a long, deep kiss.

“I don’t think we’ve ever done it on your bed before, have we?“ Georgia said.

Millie shook her head. “It’s quite nice.“

Bee leapt up onto the bed, gave the two of them a reproachful look, then curled herself into a ball on Millie’s pillow.

“Oh dear,” Georgia said. “I think we’ve made someone jealous.“

3

It was late afternoon when Sadie got back to her cottage. She’d considered checking in at Georgia’s house first, but the question of how to approach the day’s events, and how much of it she should reveal to her girlfriend, lingered heavy on her mind.

Georgia would know she was hiding something – she was either unusually gifted in that regard or Sadie was a poor liar – but if Sadie told her the truth, Georgia was sure to panic. Derwold was cut off from the rest of the world, at least temporarily. Panic and confinement were not good bedfellows.

She would head back there before the day was done; had to eventually. But right now, she needed to make as much sense of this situation as she could. And her old house – well, it was home, wasn’t it?

She’d loved living at Beekeeper Cottage these last few months, to be sure. To have Georgia greet her and the girls at the back door when school was done for the day, to cook with them in their kitchen, to help bottle honey on balmy Sunday afternoons while they still wore their pyjamas. Waking up next to Georgia each morning, her lover’s head resting against her breast, would never lose its appeal, nor would sharing a house with two enchanting little girls who could usually be counted on for a spot of sexy fun.

But this was her real home. This ancient roundhouse where Great Aunt Muriel had lived for a short time with her apprentice, Peg. Though long gone, she could still sense some vestige of them here, her ancestral memories conjuring fleeting faces between rows of sheets strung out along the washing line, whispers in the wattle and daub of the walls, tinkling laughter in the wind chimes hung hither and thither throughout the cottage.

Some might have called these benign visitations hauntings, but there was no malice in them, and they coaxed no fear from Sadie. Indeed, they were a comfort to her, as much a part of the old cottage as the clanking pipes and the creaking floorboards. Yes, Georgia and the girls had claimed a portion of her heart, but not all of it. Some part belonged here, always would.

She entered through the kitchen door, Billy Buckham at her heels. She slipped her boots off and left them lying on the mat, then washed her hands at the sink. The cat demanded milk. Sadie settled for matcha tea.

She took her drink through to the lounge, setting it down on a coaster, then opened her laptop on the coffee table. Once the screen popped up, she paced back and forth, hands laced behind her back. She would have been far too self-conscious to perform this little bit of theatre in front of anyone else, even Georgia, but had no qualms about indulging herself here, alone in what she sometimes imagined was the Batcave.

And who am I, if not Batgirl?

“Ori, search the web for all files pertaining to the House of Derwold.”

A short pause before the monotone voice of the search assistant emerged from the laptop.

“The English village of Derwold lies on the southern border of Wales. It contains eighty-two houses.“

“Er… that’s not exactly what I meant. Ori, reference all files relating to Derwold Manor and its owners.”

“Derwold Manor. The ancestral home of the Derwold family. The estate and its surrounding hamlet was granted to the Derwold family by Queen Elizabeth I in 1583 for services rendered. The manor was abandoned in 1976.”

“Ori, why was Derwold Manor abandoned?”

A longer pause this time.

“One file relating to query. Archived newspaper article from the Derwold Gazette, dated 7th November 1976. Article later redacted through threat of legal action.“

Legal action? From who? The Derwold family themselves? Had someone tried to suppress the story?

“Ori, read article.”

“Derwold Family Flee Village Under Cloud Of Scandal.

“The Derwold family, the ancestral stewards of Derwold Manor for almost four hundred years have seemingly tired of weathering the storm of scandal and controversy that has plagued the family for decades.

“Tales of satanic gatherings and wild sex parties have circulated amongst the residents of the village for years, with outspoken patriarch Lucian Derwold doing little to quell such rumours. In the space of one year alone, he was arrested three times for allegedly terrorising villagers and promoting satanism. Other offenses levelled at the family include releasing exotic and dangerous animals into the surrounding countryside, and soliciting unwanted sexual advances.

“Tensions reached a head earlier this year when a mob of villagers marched up to the manor and demanded Mr. Derwold and his wife leave the village. Several arrests were made, including Mr. Derwold himself, though as on previous occasions, all charges brought against the Lord of the Manor were dropped, a fact that may have led to the villagers taking matters into their own hands.

“Now, amongst a heavy police presence, removal trucks have been seen carrying furniture and other items from the manor. The Derwold family were not available for comment, apparently having already left the property. Their two children, thirteen-year-old Helen and eight-year-old Simon, were reported to have been taken into care.“

Satanism. Or a flirtation with it, at least. Sadie recalled the pentagram carved into the vicar’s chest. Surely it was more than mere coincidence. Had Simon killed the vicar, then, and not Elsa? Had he inherited his father’s apparent fixation with the occult? Enough that he was willing to commit murder in the name of it?

“Ori, search Simon Derwold.”

“Fifty-seven instances of the name Simon Derwold are registered under the UK census database. Please narrow search.“

“Amend search to Simon Derwold, current owner of Derwold Manor.”

“Simon Derwold. Fifty-four years old. Mother, father and sibling deceased. Husband to Elsa Hart. Owns Derwold Property Inc, a Russian-British company. Investigated for corrupt business practices connected to the Russian state. No children.“

Some interesting tidbits, but nothing that helped her. “Ori, search Elsa Hart.”

“Elsa Hart.“

It seemed Ori had nothing to offer but the name itself.

“Ori?”

“Yes.“

“Search Elsa Hart.”

“Elsa. Hart. Yes. Yes. No.“

“No?”

Ori had been known to flip out every now and then. Sadie had once done a search for ‘catering companies in the Anglo-Welsh border region’ and Ori had come back with seven hundred and forty-six search results for ‘the history of brass rubbings from 1872 to 1957’.

“Ori—”

“No. Error. Stop. She sees you. Stop. Error.“

“What the hell…”

Sadie turned the laptop round to face her. There was a single search result on screen, an entry from another newspaper article, this one from a publication called The Morcant Echo. Another local rag, she assumed. Wasn’t there a Cornish town called Morcant-On-Sea? It was dated the 13th of October 1954. Sadie read it.

Twelve-Year-Old Girl Sole Survivor Of House Of Horrors

Mainland police were greeted with a scene of horror
yesterday as they entered the home of Glenda Mooney,
a known recluse and alcoholic. Mrs. Mooney was found
dead at the property, along with her boyfriend Samuel
Skegg. Reports from the scene indicate the couple had
been set on fire, although the copious amounts of blood
suggest that fire wasn’t the cause of death. Inspector
David Trevan of the Cornish Police Force looked visibly
shaken when our reporter spoke to him. “In all my
twenty-seven years on the force I never saw anything like
this. It’s carnage in there,” he told us. Twelve-year-old
Frances Mooney was also in the house, but she survived
with nothing more than cuts and bruises. The police say
she hasn’t spoken a word since the incident and is unable
to shed any light on what happened. The Mooney family
had a history of troubles, with police visiting the property
several times over the years. Frances is believed to have 
suffered regular beatings at the hands of her mother and
her mother’s boyfriend.

The article didn’t seem to have any connection with Elsa, not that Sadie could see. Until she saw the photograph accompanying the article.

Could the young girl being led away from the house by a uniformed police officer be Elsa? There was a resemblance, certainly, but it was the hair that convinced Sadie. The same frizzy, untamed proposition. The photograph was black and white, but had it been in colour Sadie was almost certain that wild mop of hair would have been red, minus the white streaks through the sides. It was Elsa. Had to be.

But the date didn’t add up. If Elsa had been twelve in 1954, that would make her almost eighty now. Elsa couldn’t have been any older than fifty, more likely in her early to mid forties. Was it a picture of her mother, perhaps?

What had happened in that house? And if it really was Elsa in that picture, why had she changed her name? Intrigue upon intrigue.

“Goodness, Billy. There’s more questions here than answers.”

One thing she was sure of, though: Simon and Elsa were dangerous individuals.

Sadie’s heart suddenly dropped. Freya had been spending a great deal of time with Elsa, hadn’t she? For weeks now they’d been getting up to who-knew-what in Derwold Manor. Presumably Simon had been there too, at least on some of those occasions.

Gods! She needed to get back to Georgia’s and make sure they were all okay.

But there was one last visit to make before heading there.

4

“Sadie, what the bloody ‘ell’s going on?” Sally Jeffries hawked as Sadie walked through the post office door.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been due a delivery of stock for two days now, and I can’t even get on to the supplier ’bout it ’cause the bloody phones are down.”

And so it begins, Sadie thought. The confusion, then the panic. She needed to resolve this quickly, probably find a way to spread some bullshit excuse. Damage to the phone infrastructure, something like that.

“Nobody’s been gettin’ no mail, neither,” Sally was saying. “And people been fallin’ sick with something when they try headin’ outta town.”

“Falling sick? Who?”

“Jerry Carmichael, for one. He’s up on his feet now, but he said he nearly blacked out at the wheel tryin’ to get to the farm auctions down in Gloucester. Had to turn around and come home, he did. Then Pat and Sue Cornaby comes in ‘ere sayin’ the whole family had come over all queer when they was out ramblin’. Pat reckoned it was some virus they’d all caught, but they was right as rain a few hours later. Sue said she didn’t even remember going out!”

Sally leaned in to Sadie with a conspiratorial look. Her voice was hushed when she spoke, which seemed pointless considering it was only the two of them in the shop. “Do ya think it’s some sorta poison gas, Sadie? Eh? Summit the army’s testin’? Maybe they’s usin’ us as guinea pigs. Eh?”

“Don’t be daft, Sally,” Sadie said. “It’s probably just some bug doing the rounds. Sometimes you don’t know you’ve got something until you start moving about. And it can disappear as quickly as it starts.”

“Bloody ‘ell, tell me about it!” Sally agreed. “I had some dodgy sausage rolls at me sister in law’s birthday party once. Didn’t realise anything was wrong ’till me and Jeff got up to leave, and then I shat meself there and then. Ha!”

Strange how Sally always conveyed such information as if it was a point of pride.

Sally peered furtively through the shop window to make sure no one was watching, then gave Sadie a dirty grin. “Eh, fancy showin’ me some o’ that lesbian action? I’ll pay ya good money if you rub yer furburger on mine for ten minutes.”

Sadie slapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh my god, what is wrong with you, Sally?!“

The two of them hooted with laughter.

Seeing as Sally was in such high spirits, Sadie decided against her better judgement to venture into forbidden territory. “Uh… the party up at the manor was fun, wasn’t it?“

She was skating on thin ice and knew it.

“Oh, yeah. A right hoot,“ Sally agreed.

“Do you, er, remember much about it?”

Sally looked unfazed, except for a momentary creasing of the brow. “Yeah, course I do. Why? I didn’t do nothin’ embarrassin’, did I?”

“No! No, God, no. You were fine, honestly.”

I mean, you may have set fire to a druid, propositioned a Morris dancer, then called the entire population of the village ‘fuckers’, but who hasn’t done that at some point in their lives?

“Oh, thank Christ for that. I never know if I’ve said summit I shouldn’t when I’ve ‘ad a few drinks. Why’d you ask, anyway?”

“Well, you were talking to Simon Derwold. It seemed like you knew him.”

Sally’s smile dropped from her face, and hers was a face built for smiles. Sadie thought it looked strange without one. “Yeah. I remember him from way back, when we was kids. Back in the seventies, it must’ve been. Funny, I’d forgotten all ’bout him.”

“You said he did something nasty. What was that about, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The postmistress abruptly turned away. She picked up a large tub of pear drops from the floor and reached up on tiptoes to place it on the confectionery shelf behind the counter, next to the murray mints and the sherbet lemons.

“Sally?”

Sadie was about to ask if she wanted a hand, but it was too late. The tub slipped from Sally’s grasp, scattering pear drops across the floor. Sally kicked the upturned container. “Fuck’s sake! You clumsy fuckin’ cow, Sally Drodge!”

Sadie came round the counter and put an arm around the postmistress. “All right, Sally. No harm done, okay?”

Sally was trembling. “You hear that, Sadie? I called meself ‘Drodge’. I ain’t been a Drodge for nigh on twenty-five years.” She turned to Sadie with frightened eyes. “He tortured his pets, Sadie. Killed ’em. His dad didn’t care neither – he had ’em stuffed afterwards. The little shit used to keep ’em in his room, he did.”

“Simon?”

“Yeah. I seen him kill his little dog. We was in the woods and he… he made me watch. I were only six. He tied it down and drew one of them devil symbols round it. Then he…” Sally screwed her face up, shaking her head as if to deny the image it had wrought upon her. “I can still hear it scream, Sadie. A dog ain’t s’posed to make a noise like that. I were only six, for God’s sake.”

“Oh, Sally.”

“He was a fuckin’ nutter. I’d forgotten all about it ’till he come back here again. Can you ever become a normal person after doin’ summit like that, Sadie? I dunno. We was just kids, I s’pose. I doubt he does that sorta thing these days.”

No. These days the pets have been upgraded to members of the clergy.

Sally wiped her eyes, then bent down and began scooping confectionery from the dusty floor. “Anyway, it were a long time ago. Help me pick these sweets up, will ya? If I stick ’em back in the tub no one’ll ever know.”

Sadie made a mental note never to buy sweets from the post office.

5

When Sadie got back to Beekeeper Cottage it was approaching early evening. She met Georgia coming from the orchard, fully suited in her beekeeper attire. Millie closed the orchard gate behind her, then scampered towards the two women. The eight-year-old didn’t bother wearing her own beekeeping suit anymore, a fact Georgia had begrudgingly come to accept. Sometimes the bees swarmed around the child, settling over her in great clumps, but far from alarming Millie, it seemed to delight her. And the bees had never once stung her.

Georgia pulled off her protective veil and kissed Sadie on the mouth. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Sadie replied. “Where’s Freya?”

Georgia rolled her eyes. “Where do you think?”

Sadie’s heart dropped into her stomach. “With Elsa?”

“Who else? That girl’s infatuated. Hey, you don’t think she and Elsa are… you know…?”

If only sex was the extent of our problems, Sadie thought. All this time they’d been happily allowing Freya to wander off to Derwold Manor with no inkling of how much danger she’d been in. It was like putting a lamb into a cage full of wolves. “Uh… dunno. Listen, I’m gonna go pick her up.”

Georgia creased her brow. “Is everything okay? You looked worried.”

“I’m fine. I just need you and Millie to stay here until I get back with Freya.”

“What’s going on, Sadie?”

Sadie was already heading back to her car. “Nothing, Georgia. I’ll explain everything when I get back.”

Her hands were shaking when she took the wheel. As she navigated the narrow country lanes to the manor, she considered the best way to approach the situation. Astris had warned her not to confront Elsa, but what choice did she have now? She needed to get Freya out of there, and quickly.

She’d just make up some excuse about dinner going cold on the table, retrieve Freya, and with a little luck, hightail it out of there before Elsa and Simon had an opportunity to think something was amiss.

Driving past the imposing wrought iron gates, Sadie took the car up the steep thoroughfare that led to Derwold Manor.

Soon to come: Chapter Seven!